Mine Now, Girl

Here's a short one that's a little coy compared to my usual writing. There's no sex here, but a nice setup for your erotic imagination. Let me know in the comments if you want more like this.

-IT

"I'm telling you, this is different, Glad. This is really... morally dubious to say the least."

"You said that last time," Gladys said. "When what's her face-"

"Veronica," Peel replied.

"Right. When you said you didn't want to take advantage of Veronica's breakup. You remember what happened?"

"Yeah," said Peel, glumly poking at the fire, "but I mean, I was trying to do the right thing. It was an emotionally vulnerable time."

"It was three months after her breakup! Avid swooped in because you sat on your hands, man."

"But I'm telling you-"

"Or that girl you met at the party — Sparkles, Sprinkles, something like that? The one with...." she held her hands in front of her, miming big breasts. It was an absurd gesture for Glady to make. She was prodigious — one of those women failed by modern clothing. Dressed in jeans and a shirt, she just looked out of shape, but in her ren faire garb, she was absolutely breathtaking. In a bustier and open-necked dress, with her long, straight, black hair, pale complexion, oval-shaped face, ruddy cheeks, and Rubenesque build, it was very, very hard to look away.

"Glimmer," Peel said. "She was drunk."

"Not as drunk as you were. And she was practically throwing herself at you."

He sighed. "It's just... I don't know, the rules always seem so confusing to me. Like you're not supposed to swoop in after a breakup, except people do and it's fine. You're not supposed to get with a drunk girl, but then if you're also drunk, you can and it's fine, except when it's not. I don't know. I just get these urges. I feel so aggressive sometimes, and just want to, you know."

Gladys smiled. "I know. And it's fine."

"Don't you want to hear it first?"

"No, Peel. I don't want to hear anymore about it. I'm hard up enough as it is without hearing about your blue balls on top of it."

"What about, uh, 'Sir?'"

Gladys cringed. "That guy. I don't want to talk about it."

Peel nodded. "Ah, okay. Let's talk about, uh-"

"That fucking wheedling little weasel of a wannabe top," Gladys said, standing up on wobbly legs. "You know he talked so big. We had this whole scenario where he was going to pretend to drug me, carry me off to the coast and, well, you know.

"He comes home, says some, 'you're mine now, girl' kind of thing, trying to be very dom. And so I'm playing along, like 'Oh, no! Help!'" she said, holding her crossed wrists above her head and squirming. "Then, do you know what he does?"

"Uh," Peel crossed his legs, "what's that?"

"Starts crying. Then he's dumping on me, how I bring out things in him that scare him. Something something his mother. Yaddayadda, he respects me, but I'm just so depraved, and he can't handle how he feels. Like it's my fault that this shitty guy I met at a play party feels guilty about his kinks."

"Damn. Like as soon as things started?" Peel asked.

"Yeah. I was wearing more clothes than I am now," she said, casually adjusting her breasts in her top.

Peel cleared his throat. "What an asshole," he said, a little hoarsely. Gladys looked at him from across the fire pit, her expression a little sly.

"Meanwhile, I'd had a valium and a shot to get in the helpless damsel mode."

Peel laughed. "Man, no half-measures for you. Respect."

"Damn straight. Gonads out for this damsel," she scowled, theatrically. "And that's why I'm telling you, one kinkster to another, make your move, P."

"Yeah, I-" he looked up, "I never told you I was kinky. I mean-"

She grinned.

"I mean, I am. I don't know, I guess I'm a little like the former Sir. Kind of tortured."

Gladys drained the rest of her beer. "You're not like him, and you know why? Because you don't make your own inner bullshit someone else's problem."

"Yeah," he nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Glad. Message received."

"Damn straight," she repeated. "I mean, look at those weirdos."

He looked across the field. There was a group of what looked like college kids dressed in period costume and singing sea shanties, loud and out of tune around a big campfire.

"Last night. You want to joing in?" she asked.

"Actually, I'm really enjoying just talking to you," he said.

"Hey, me too!" she grinned. "I gotta go piss and then we're going to try out that mead you brought."

* * *

"Ooh, fancy! Is that a goblet?"

"I think of it as more of a chalice," he said, handing her the silver glass. "Or, I don't know, some kind of vessel."

She nodded, taking it. "Good, I hate the word 'goblet.' It sounds like a small glob."

"Globlets of goblets," he said, clinking glasses with her.

She burst out laughing. "It better be good after that toast." She took a sip. "Oh, okay. It is good."

"You sound surprised."

"I don't know," she said, "it's just, you know, I hear, "home brew mead," and I think, vinegary fruit punch. But this — this is good. Really goes with the whole, uh...." she gestured, taking in the campfire and the sky, swaying.

"Ambiance?"

"Right. Brain's getting a little soak right now," she smiled.

"Yeah, you're looking a little wobbly over there."

"So I've heard," she said, leaning forward suggestively.

He shook his head, laughing. "You're too much, Glad."

"I hope not 'too much,' too much," she pouted.

"Just enough too much," he said, raising his glass.

"What are you into anyway?" she asked. "I'm sensing top or maybe switch, but... I don't know, the specifics are a little hazy. Everything's a little hazy, actually"

"I guess I'm a pleaser. I like making people happy."

"Like a service top?"

He stroked his chin. "Kind of, maybe? I've always liked the idea of doing something really, really filthy and having someone thank me for it, because it's just the right filthy thing to do."

"I like that, but can I some advice?" She squinted. "I mean, can I give you some?"

"You can definitely give me some."

She laughed. "Make her think s'all your ssscheme," she slurred. "Let her forget she thought it first."

He smiled. "Oh, yeah. She doesn't even know I'm planning it."

"Oh, tha's nice," she slurred. "I bet you-"

"Whoa!" he said, rushing forward to grab her as she listed dangerously toward the fire.

"S'good mead," she said. "hits prih hard, though."

He glanced down into her half-finished goblet. "Don't worry about it. I've got you," he said, clinking glasses with her, and helping her lift the goblet to her face.

She giggled, leaning against him. "You gettin me drunk? Cuz I think you gettin me drunk."

"You already got yourself drunk."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Goh myself prih druk. S'not even late yet. Think I'm guh-unna...."

"Oops, let's not stain that gorgeous top," he said, grabbing the goblet.

She slumped against him, mumbling something that sounded faintly grateful, her hand in his lap. He wrapped his arm around her, watching her breasts gently rise and fall in the firelight, and listening to her quiet breath.

"Glad? You still with me? Glad?" he lightly slapped her cheek, and heard not a sound.

He turned her face toward him, and kissed her gently on the bridge of her nose, enjoying the tickle of her breath against his neck, and the faint smell of campfire and sweat in her hair. Then he turned her head, running his lips gently across her cheek to her ear.

"You're mine now, girl," he murmured.